Where the Memories Live (and the Cookies Bake)

December always brings me back to the recipes that mark the seasons of my life: the ones tucked behind old cookbooks or written in someone’s handwriting, the ones tied to years of food and laughter.

This time of year always brings all the feels, too: joy, challenge, and those moments when you simply keep going, trusting brighter days are ahead.

And then there’s this ornament, which always stops me. Hanging it brings me back to the early years of building traditions and a warm home. Maybe that’s where these kitchen stories really began.

A Found Kitchen Treasure

I was hunting for Christmas recipes this weekend and pulled out a small book from 1945. Out fell a piece of my grandmother’s world – a worn piece of paper where she’d written her version of a recipe for dinner rolls. Not a week before I was standing in the grocery store lamenting (maybe vocally) how hard it was to find plain, old fashioned dinner rolls. The staple of dinners for as long as I can remember. But you know baking and I have a long and storied love/hate relationship. Well challenge accepted. I knew if I tried it, she’d be watching from above. And it stood the test of time!

On Gratitude (and the Food that Brings Us Together)

Well here we are: another holiday season is upon us. The oven’s been working overtime, there’s flour on the counter (always), and somehow my spice jars have all migrated to the front again. Maybe it’s the time of year, but I’ve been thinking a lot about gratitude—and I want to start by saying how thankful I am for all of you who show up here. Truly.

Thank you to everyone who encouraged me, supported me, and gently insisted that “yes, this IS a good idea” on the days I wasn’t so sure.

If you take one thing my kitchen adventures, let it be this: don’t be afraid to take the risk. Even the small ones count. And we’ll be right here cheering you on.

The Beauty of Staying a While

Did you ever think about how disconnected we can be? We’re constantly on our phones, half listening to what’s going on around us. We’re often so super stressed that we can’t let ourselves rest (or is that just me?). And when you add in current events…it just feels like a lot. So when you have the moments to really be present, I don’t know, they feel like something special (maybe something to savor!) Maybe that’s the lesson from a meandering day exploring with the people who bring you joy: that connection doesn’t have to be complicated. Sometimes it’s just a long lunch, a friendly chat, and a shared glass of wine.

Slow Starts and Where it All Began?

Before there was a blog, a Substack, or even the idea of a book, there was this little spiral-bound treasure: With Love From My Kitchen below. It was my first collection of recipes, hints, and secrets passed from one home cook to another.

It’s worn now. The pages are splattered (don’t judge, you know I’m a messy cook). But every time I flip through it, I’m reminded of where this all began. Not with a perfect photo or a polished recipe card, but with the simple joy of writing things down. Of remembering how it felt to share a meal, to stir something familiar, to make a note in the margin that just says “so good.”

I guess that’s still what I’m doing here. Keeping that same promise: to cook with love, and to share it freely.

Proof I Can Still Cook (And Other Fall Comforts)

It’s funny how returning to the kitchen can feel like coming home to yourself (And there it is! I couldn’t resist throwing in one zen moment!).

After a stretch of busy weeks, the simple acts of stirring, chopping, and tasting reminded me how grounding it can be. Couple that with a lineup of some of our favorite dinners, well, that’s a chef’s kiss in my kitchen.

I’m thinking this is the perfect reminder to slow down long enough to savor what’s right in front of me. Even if it’s Tuesday night dinner.

The Art of Feeling Lost (and Finding Myself Again)

I managed each morning to be the first one up during our annual fall retreat on the shores of Lake Ontario (those of you who know me personally can just stop laughing now). And in the stillness of each morning I either sat on the deck looking out at the lake or inside by the roaring fireplace and just wrote. I shared a few new recipes here and even started the next chapter of my book (which still feels surreal to type). But no matter what I was writing, I was taking such joy and pride in every word that filled the page.

It’s the first time I took advantage of that opportunity. Every visit here reminds me that feeling lost (or getting lost) isn’t about losing our way, it’s about finding new pieces of yourself, waiting quietly to be noticed.

Celebrating Six Months at the Table

Six months ago, I sent out the very first Gather & Savor post, not sure who would wander in and pull up a chair. Today, I’m smiling so wide at the thought that you’re here reading, cooking, sharing, and sometimes even sending me notes like this:

I love getting these in my inbox. It’s like we’re sitting at the coffee shop and you’re just telling me stories and making me want to cook all the things..

It feels a little like baking a cake and hearing the timer ding: sweet, satisfying, and worth celebrating.

If these past six months have taught me one thing, it’s this: share your voice! Don’t ever let anyone make you feel that you don’t have something to share or no one will listen (or read!). Take the step, challenge yourself and have fun.

Kitchen Magic & the Art of Transformation

I’ve found in the last week or so, I’ve been doing a lot of deep thinking, questioning, and pondering the idea of transformation (Call it what you will or just know it’s been a reflective time in my kitchen).

You know that moment when you stir something on the stove and it suddenly changes: the onions turn golden and caramelized, the sauce thickens to the perfect consistency, the bread rises to absolute perfection? Adam Gopnik calls it “a kind of everyday magic,” and here’s another deep thought: I couldn’t agree more. After a long day of mind work, shifting from head to hands every night at 6 p.m. feels so grounding. It’s transformation you can see, smell, and taste (and it brings me such joy every day).

Cooking Like a River

The other day I was listening to Samin Nosrat talk about her book Good Things, and she said something that stopped me in my tracks: cooking is scaffolding. Learn how things work, and you can build from there. She connected it to the amazingly talented Yo-Yo Ma’s idea that every performance is like a river: always changing, never the same water twice. And I may have yelled in my passenger-less car: “HEY that’s what I do in the kitchen, too!” I will make the same dish, but it’s typically not the same recipe because it’s always shifting with the moment.

That scaffolding, that willingness to experiment, that need to share, that’s what brings me joy each week. (and honestly, why I started writing these recipes because I tended to have a hard time explaining how I made something).

Cook, Chat, and Savor

Our favorite curry was inspired by one of the most unexpectedly joyful food experiences I’ve ever had: an online cook-along with Marcus Samuelsson during the early days of the pandemic. Wait, what? I couldn’t sign up fast enough.

For a donation to my local public television station, I received an event “ticket,” and a box of ingredients arrived at my door. Then came the best part — cooking live with him on Zoom. I was completely nerding out… and also reminded that I could never be a professional chef. Let’s just say my kitchen pace is a little more cook, chat, and savor than restaurant speed.

But what really stayed with me — beyond how much fun it was to gather around the table for something that felt so special — was the way he talked about building flavor in layers. Sweetness from coconut milk. Heat from poblanos. Richness from slow-cooked onions. It changed how I think about cooking. Since that night, I try not to just make dinner. I build it, one layer at a time.

Comfort in a Bowl

I don’t have a drop of Italian blood in me, but cooking Italian food brings me such absolute joy. Maybe it’s the comfort, maybe it’s the aroma that fills the house or maybe it’s just the excuse to pour a glass of wine while the sauce simmers. Since we were saddled with a weekend of rain (and yes, snow) last week, I could think of no better way to bring a little happiness to the table than a big pot of homemade Bolognese with freshly made pasta. Pure comfort in a bowl! (But my pasta maker may have met it’s demise)

The Joys (and Messes) of Cooking

There’s nothing wrong with keeping it real. In the kitchen and in life! Not every dish looks picture-perfect around here but I’ll always share it anyway because it tastes good. If you ask SOME PEOPLE in my house, I’m perhaps the messiest cook in culinary history. And honestly? I don’t rush. Cooking is a meandering journey for me, which is exactly why I’d be eliminated in the first round of a cooking competition show. I’d still be pondering the ingredients when time was up. But hey, knowing where you can grow? That’s part of the fun.

Cooking is a lot like life: just because you might not get it perfect the first time doesn’t mean you shouldn’t try. Honestly, that might be where the best stories (and flavors) come from.

The Heart of Hosting

Holidays are always a little chaotic, but there’s truly nothing I’d rather host. Easter is no exception.

We start with brunch: a tradition that kicks off the day with laughter and good food. By evening, the house is filled with the warm buzz of conversation and the familiar, comforting smells of our holiday favorites. As I watch everyone gathered around the table, passing dishes and sharing stories, I can’t help but feel grateful. It’s never just about the holiday. It’s always about the people who fill the room.

Hosting can feel overwhelming at times, but seeing the joy it brings makes every moment of preparation worth it. Cooking isn’t just about the end result; it’s about the process: the way it grounds me, connects me to others, and reminds me of what’s possible.

Married into Burger Greatness

Burgers have become a summer staple at our house not just because they’re easy, but because there’s something satisfying about building the perfect bite. And, maybe more importantly, because I married into a legacy of crafting the perfect burger.

My father-in-law and his brothers ran a legendary local burger joint (affectionately called The Joint by we family). He was a truly great cook, and to this day, my husband and his siblings can recall every single step they took to make burgers that became the talk (and taste) of the town. When I got married and introduced myself, people would immediately ask if I was related. That’s when I knew: I’d married into burger greatness.

The First Taste of Spring

Few things make me as happy as the way light is streaming into the kitchen this time of year. There’s a tiny bundle of fresh herbs sitting on the counter, and it just makes me smile every time I walk by. It’s the first real taste of spring in my kitchen. After a few swings and misses (if there are any baseball fans out there), I’ve finally got a crop of herbs thriving in the AeroGarden we got for Christmas. It became a labor of love but it makes me happy every time I grab some fresh herbs for dinner. Once my garden starts coming back to life, I’m trying to decide what to fill it with next.